24. Gleb

Mel practically sprinted into the burlesque lounge on her way into work, leaving me no time to cross the street and intercept her.

Instead, I'll have to find her during her shift.

That won't be a problem. Even if I've been banned from Pearl's.

I wait until the crowd starts to flow in, when I'll garner the least amount of attention. Then, I shuffle into the steady stream of bodies flooding through the door. It's a man accepting cover charges at the front tonight. He's conversing with the couple ahead of me and too distracted to check my face. So, he barely gives me a second glance along with his nod as I slip him a fifty-dollar bill. Then I walk on in without a fuss.

There's an art to being invisible, and I'm not afraid to use it to my full advantage to get inside unnoticed. Avoiding my brothers will probably prove a far bigger challenge, but I just need enough time to speak to Mel. I can accomplish that before they spot me.

The same dark-haired bartender is working tonight, so rather than taking a stool, I slink toward the bathroom hallway, searching for a way into the club's back rooms. My eyes land on the concealed door to the left of the stage, behind the bandstand.

No one's guarding it—at least on this side—likely to keep it better hidden.

Stealing into the shadows beneath the piano's raised platform, I scan the room to see who might have noticed me. But no one's looking. The band is in full form, bringing the new number into a crescendo with a trumpet solo. And as the music pauses, the curtains shuffle back with a theatrical snick.

My heart skips a beat as soon as I lay eyes on her.

Mel's one of the backup dancers tonight, dressed in a costume that mimics a top hat and black-tie ensemble. Only, beneath the tail coat, she's wearing little more than fishnet stockings and cheeky, frill-covered lingerie.

Her long legs and firm ass flash from beneath the jacket's cover as she twists and writhes, undulating provocatively in perfect time with the rhythm of the song. She's dangerously sexy, stealing the show even from the back.

Mouth dry, I swallow hard.

I can't tear my eyes off her.

However, I need to keep my senses sharp to avoid detection.

It kills me, slowly and painfully, to see her up there. The sultry allure on her face. The way her body moves so suggestively.

Violent jealousy boils up in my chest, consuming me with burning anger.

I know the men in the audience are watching her closely, admiring her graceful beauty, her effortless sexuality. They all dream of touching her. Claiming her for their own.

Just like I do.

The dark thought puts lead rocks in my stomach.

But even if I yearn for her like they do, it's different with me. Because I will keep my hands off her if that's what she needs. I will give her space. I just can't watch other men take pleasure in what she won't give me. And even if she denies it, I know this isn't the life she wants.

I can see it in her face as she dances—if I look closely.

This job is slowly suffocating her, snuffing out the light.

I don't know why she thinks she has to stay. Maybe it's as Sascha said. She thinks she belongs to the Kellys. She's afraid to leave. But that won't stop me.

I will convince her to come back to New York with me—that I can protect her there.

Because if I don't, I won't be able to live with myself for letting her suffer.

Mel's a strong girl, so I know she could endure a long time. It's probably why she's thrived this long. But eventually, she would become a husk of the girl I know. The fierce, vibrant, passionate—hard-headed—woman would cease to exist. All that would be left is an empty shell.

Beautiful but broken.

Without a soul.

The song comes to an end, and I can see her chest heaving as she holds her pose, raking in breaths, though she made the dance look effortless. The curtains close, hiding her from view. She won't be back on stage for a bit. At the very least, she'll need to change clothes, but from what I remember of the club, she'll more likely be scheduled for a break after her performance—if no one's asked for a private dance.

This might be my best chance to speak with her.

Sticking to the shadows, I slink past the bandstand, watching my bouncer half-brothers out of my periphery as I reach the concealed door. It gives a soft click under the pressure of my palms, and I slip through the opening, pulling the door shut behind me.

The club music filters through the wall as I find myself in a red-lit hallway. Mirrored doors line either side, a gold number painted at the crown of each—the private dance rooms.

Girlish chatter issues from the doorway at the far end of the hall, and long legs wearing impossibly high heels stroll past the opening. But I can't tell if it's Mel. The woman's only a silhouette from here. Glancing down the hall the other way, I assess the layout, the number of unmarked, mirrorless doors. At the end of the red-lit space is a steel door. A glowing Exit sign illuminated above.

That must be the side door Mel comes and goes through.

Turning my attention back to the open dressing room, I debate the wisdom of seeking her out. The fastest way for a man to get kicked out of a burlesque lounge is to have him waltz into the girls' dressing room unannounced. But I don't see how else I'll find her before she has another dance.

Then, by the grace of god, it would seem, her slender frame fills the door, her hands clasping the molding.

"I'm going out for some fresh air. Call me in when it's my next number," she says, her long neck curved so she can look back at the girls behind her.

She's already wearing the outfit for her next number—the innocent white satin corset and feathery wings contrasting with the lacy garter belt that holds her thigh-high, lace-trimmed pantyhose in place. If I had any doubt that she's supposed to be an angel, the down-covered halo suspended above her head by a thin wire confirms it.

She's draped a cream-colored trench coat over one arm, though I don't see how she's possibly supposed to use it to keep herself warm with her wings firmly in place between her shoulder blades.

Someone gives Mel an indistinct answer, and she turns, taking three long steps down the hallway before her eyes land on me. Then she freezes. Eyes widening, her head snaps left and right, searching the empty space with near desperation—like she's ready to bolt once she finds an escape.

"I just want to talk," I say softly, keeping my voice low and my hands visible as I step toward her cautiously.

"Are you crazy?" she hisses. She storms toward me with a ferocity that hadn't been there a second before.

Grasping my arm with considerable strength, her natural nails pressing into my flesh, she pulls me toward the exit. And because I overheard her say she's going for some air, I follow willingly. But as we get to the door, she shoves me against the wall and into the corner.

"Stay," she commands quietly, shoving a finger in my face. Then she collects herself and pushes the door open. She blocks me with her body and considerable wingspan as she leans outside. "Vik, Harper needs to speak with you. Now, he said." She says it with enough authority to be quite convincing.

I catch the grumbled complaint—something about breaking protocol and how Vik will somehow have to pay the price—then my behemoth of an older brother slips inside the club and storms down the hallway toward an unmarked door. Without a single glance in my direction.

As soon as he vanishes through the doorway, Mel grasps my wrist and hauls me outside, closing the door into the alley firmly behind her.

"What are you doing here, Gleb? You shouldn't be here." Her eyes flick toward the closed door behind me as anxiety flashes across her face.

Concern twists my stomach. Does she think she might get punished for my return?

"No one saw me," I state calmly to put her at ease. "I couldn't leave things the way we did last night." I study her delicate features as Mel's onyx gaze flashes to mine.

She presses her lips together, a hint of guilt threatening to take over her expression. Then, it's gone behind a mask of defiance. "I have nothing left to say."

"Then just listen, okay?" I step closer, bringing our bodies within a foot of each other, and her intoxicating scent fills my nose. My pulse quickens as her lips part, and it takes all my willpower to remain focused.

Seeming stunned by the intensity of my plea, Mel looks up at me without a word.

"I know I handled things poorly last night," I start. "I let my emotions get the better of me. I shouldn't have said what I did. I know you have a right to do whatever you want with your life. Your body. But I still want to take you back to New York with me. It doesn't have to be anything more than that if you don't want it to be. But I can't leave you here, Mel." I shake my head. "Not here. Deny it all you want, but I can see this job is wrong for you. It's crushing your spirit. Making you compromise. And you shouldn't have to do that. Not when I can help it."

Her head dips, her eyes dropping to the cement as she shakes her head mutely.

And it wrings my heart. With every ounce of restraint I possess, I reach up to gently trap her chin between my finger and thumb. Then I guide her face up until she has to look at me.

"Why won't you let me help?" I murmur, bringing my head down until we're at eye level.

"I c-can't be with you," she stutters, the words sounding almost painful to confess.

They cut like a dagger through the heart. But I suppress the pain, trying to understand—even if I know it will only hurt worse. "Why not?"

Mel shakes her head, a tear rolling down her high cheekbone, and when she tries to drop her gaze, I force her to keep looking at me.

"Please, just tell me. It can't possibly be worse than this agony of not knowing."

"I'm scared of you," she breathes, her words so quiet, they're barely audible.

I was wrong.

This is definitely worse.

I swallow convulsively, trying to dislodge my heart from my throat, and I drop my hand as I take a step back.

After the life she's led, after the things she's seen—endured even—I still scare her?

I know I'm not a good man.

I'm far from worthy of her.

But I've never cared so deeply for another person in my life.

I've never wanted to be more worthy.

Confusion flashes through my mind as I relive our first night together—when she came to my room. Where did I go wrong? I tried to be so fucking careful, but maybe I read the signals wrong. My father's training never really did excel at human bonding.

I can read a person's fear from across a room. I can sense their strengths and weaknesses before we even enter combat. But knowing if Mel actually wanted me that night…? Maybe I'm a bigger monster than I realized.

"You don't need to be scared of me, Mel," I insist. "I would never hurt you. I'll—" I choke on my next promise as the pain of it lances through my chest. "I'll never touch you again. Just. Let me help you."

Mel shakes her head, a soft sob ripping from her lungs, and she brushes impatiently at the tears that start to fall. It's agony to see her cry, to watch her in pain, and not know how to help. I want to remove the distance between us, to pull her into my arms. But I just promised I wouldn't, and knowing that I'm the reason she's crying makes it all the worse.

"That's not what I mean," she murmurs, pulling herself back together. And when her dark eyes find mine once again, for the first time, I can see the genuine fear in them. "I'm scared because you hold a power over me that I'm helpless against. I can't trust it. I can't trust myself around you. And after my past with men…"

"You can't trust me," I finish, my chest aching hollowly.

I can't help myself. Now that I know what she means, I can't stay away. I would do whatever it takes to earn that trust.

Closing the distance between us, I press a hand against the small of her back as I cradle her face, and I peer deep into her mesmerizing eyes. "But, Mel, can't you see you hold a power over me too? I would do anything for you. I don't go around chasing women, but I would chase you to the ends of the earth if you'd let me."

Mel's breath catches. She must feel my heart hammering beneath her palms as they rest on my chest. Her gaze flicks down to my lips, her tongue darting out to wet her own, and though I know it's a risk, I lean in slowly to kiss her.

Our lips meet with an explosion of fireworks, the heat of our attraction blasting through my core. As I snake my arm tighter around her waist, Mel wraps her arms around my neck to pull her closer. Searing passion ignites in my body. I could kiss her forever, hold her in my arms, and just forget about tomorrow.

Then, the door slams open behind me.

I whirl instinctually as Mel stiffens. Breaking our kiss, I keep her firmly tucked against my chest as I face the potential threat. And my brother Viktor scowls down at us with blatant irritation.

"You're wanted back on stage," he growls at Mel, and apparently, he must like her because he's generous enough not to mention that Harper was, in fact, not looking for him at all. Which is why he probably just spent the last ten minutes getting an earful over leaving his post without permission.

His eyes shift to me, and he glowers as he takes in the sight of my hands around her waist.

"I'm coming right now," she says breathlessly, trying to step out of my arms.

But I don't let her go far. Instead, I give her enough freedom to walk as I follow her toward the door. From the looks of it, I doubt Viktor is going to let me by, but right now, nothing he does will stop me.

"What are you doing?" Mel hisses as she realizes I'm one step behind her.

"I'm not letting you go back in alone," I state frankly.

"Yes, you are. Mr. Kelly said he would kill you if you came back," she states, panic rising in her voice.

"Mel—"

"We're not doing this right now," she states firmly. "I'm finishing my shift, and you're leaving."

After what happened last night, I know better than to push her. So, swallowing my jealousy, I nod. "But you'll meet me tomorrow morning?" I insist. "At the coffee shop across the street."

Eyes flicking nervously toward Vik, Mel bites her lip and nods. Then she spins and races back inside.